Looking back on it, after that fairly satisfying sparring match with Tristan the next few weeks passed in a sort of hectic blur of agonisingly tense waiting around doing the daily chores, interspersed with brief bouts of violent activity. The Batavians had been invited to the party…
"No way!"
"You can't be serious!"
"I'd rather eat my horse than let those bastards anywhere near this place!"
Arthur pinched his nose and then glared at me. I was leaning against the wall behind Tristan's chair, smirking since the scout was the only one who hadn't said a word of protest.
And so the knights were eager to train me up as an excuse to show off for when the Germans arrived…
"Now see here kitten, when I said I'd like to do some sparring with you, I didn't mean a death match!" Gawain howled, brandishing his axe in front of him defensively as I spun my dirks in my hands and advanced upon him.
And…
"If you're going to be sitting on a horse all day, you might as well sit there in pain!" Cador laughed maniacally, watching me do press-ups on the hard flagstones. Tears were mingling with the sweat that dripped off my nose and I grunted with each repetition. This was, indeed, pain.
Also…
"So, how do you feel about lances?" Dinadan asked me, his tone deceptively innocent.
I ran from the building.
Worse still, fatherhood had reduced Bors into a sentimental fool and all he was now extremely reluctant to stray too far from Vanora… this meant the rest of the knights were whinged at to swap patrol duties. It didn't work, but it made the daily grind of life at the fort that little bit more annoying. But worse than that was my unofficial job as babysitter. Apparently I had a natural aptitude for it…
"He won't stop crying!" Bors yelled over the infant's screaming and holding him out to his mother, who rolled her eyes at me and pointed at me. My hands were supposed to be full of carrots, but I was forced to set them down on a table in order to take the baby. I was supposed to be helping in the kitchen, but as soon as I had settled the tiny thing against my shoulder and cuddled him close with a deep hum in the back of my throat, Gilly hiccoughed explosively and then quietened with small grizzles of resentment against his sire.
Bors swore at me foully and stomped out. I rolled my eyes at Vanora and followed him out to the main part of the tavern, looking for Tristan who was sitting with Gawain, Galahad and the twins. Bors was looming over them and complaining loudly about his efforts.
It was simplicity itself to sneak up on him. "I would suggest practise, an even temper and a gentler voice," I said softly, right behind him.
Bors jumped and whirled around to glare down at me. "What the hell do you mean by that?" he growled.
"Babies are like horses," I said, while internally wondering if that was a fair description. "They pick up on a person's mood. If you're nervous, distracted, fidgety and noisy, Gilly will probably draw some alarming conclusions about the soundness of your mind."
Bors looked ready to explode, his face was puce and a vein throbbed in his temple. Hands flexing into fists at his side, he opened his mouth to scream, but I flicked my eyes meaningfully at Gilly who was contentedly watching the goings on of the tavern while sucking on his own pudgy fist. Bors let out a huge sigh and sat down looking almost defeated. "Here, let him hear your heart," I said and put the Gilly on his chest, carefully arranging Bors' arms just so. "If he starts to whine just rub his back and hum. Absolutely no shouting." This final point I strengthened with a stern look at the rest of the knights. "That goes for you lot too. Be good uncles."
They looked like I'd ruined their evening, but I honestly didn't care. I didn't want to be responsible for the little goblin either and I had no obligation to be his nanny since no one was paying me.
I retreated to the kitchen for the rest of the evening. Gilly eventually started to cry from tiredness and Vanora took both him and Bors off to bed early, leaving Brenna in charge. I was put to work as a knife-man, cutting up anything that was put in front of me before shoving it into various pots, pans and bowls for others to deal with. Nice and easy.
Because of the nature of this task, I had time to think. In particular, I had time to ponder the problem of Tristan. He had been increasingly… attentive. While still a heartless taskmaster, he was taking a greater interest in my day-to-day affairs despite not doing anything to make them more pleasant. Most of the time I was running errands or helping Amandus and Mato. Occasionally Arthur needed my mad skills with paperwork, but otherwise preferred to leave me alone. And since the rest of the fort had either seen or heard of my ability to hold my own against the ferocious Sarmatians, I was generally given a wide berth. This was an extremely satisfying reputation; anyone mad enough to challenge Tristan was clearly to be avoided. Or kept happy.
But now Vanora was convinced that we'd make a cute couple.
… Ridiculous.
Keep him at a fully-dressed, completely professional distance, I had once thought grimly. But that plan had already been shot down by having to strip him to his underwear to save his life on our very first day of acquaintance. Oh, he was good-looking enough, I supposed. On reflection, his handsomeness had struck me when I'd first found him—but since I'd been living with him for so long, his features were now simply familiar, no longer noticeably remarkable.
Another, more treacherous part of me said that I did indeed find cold-eyed, arrogant bastards attractive since I had managed to live with Tristan for nearly five months without murdering him.
Urgh… I did not need this. I had to focus. The Batavians were arriving at the end of the week and I had volunteered to go and escort them to the fort. Or rather, I had told everyone that's what I'd do. Needless to say, the response was mixed: Gawain had a fit of overprotective madness, Kahedin was sour and resigned about my new behaviour (I had the feeling he was entering Gawain's camp of hoping I'd become a lady), and Tristan was indifferent… in public anyway. I had the creeping feeling of certainty that there would be a lecture waiting for me when we were alone.
That same night, after I had finally finished my extra duties in the tavern, I had hoped to crawl into bed and sleep. As I mounted the stairs I heard a feminine giggle from the shadows above.
This wasn't an unusual occurrence—the knights were constantly picking up women. Usually I just marched past with my ears shut to the (often raucous) noises and fell asleep with a blanket over my head. Tristan seemed inhuman to such things and seemed capable of sleeping through anything.
Thus not paying attention I pushed open the door to our room, stopped, stepped backwards and quickly shut it again.
So much for Tristan having a heart of stone and mud in his veins.
Also, he had a really nice arse.
In a sort of speechless autopilot, I went to one of the empty rooms, grabbed a couple of extra blankets, and headed for the stables. On my way down, I nearly bumped straight into Kahedin who had finally managed to regain some autonomy.
"Not another argument!" he said in despair. "And to think you had been doing so well together…"
"We didn't have a fight, and we're not a couple." I said through gritted teeth. (Do not despair readers, I had not been rendered speechless for long.)
"Then why are you looking for somewhere to sleep?"
"Someone has company." I explained after a moment's hesitation.
"Oh…" Kahedin looked stunned and then incredibly angry. But seeing my uncomfortable expression, he gave me a sympathetic grimace. "Well, I'd invite you to stay with me, but I think Tristan might get round to wondering where you are. And then in a fit of jealousy he'd kill us while we slept locked in a tangle of limbs, naked and—"
He didn't get any further because I clapped a hand over his mouth. But I could feel his unrepentant grin under my fingers and couldn't help but smirk back. He was good at cheering me up. "Oh no, he'd wake us up and make us suffer." I replied casually, removing my hand.
"Huh. I guess you're right. Enjoy the stables, kitten." He patted me on the head and went to his room. I sighed and went to Tagiytei's stall—he was a better guardian than the rest of the fort combined. The horse greeted me with his usual slightly violent brand of affection before letting me sleep. I would have liked to persuade him to lie down with me, but he preferred to stand guard.
Randomly, my last thoughts before drifting away were that Tristan's ratty red tunic had to die. It was now more patches and stubbornness than whole fabric. But the obstinate prat kept on sending it to the washer-women and demanding it to be re-dyed red. I was tempted to ask him if it symbolised some emotional baggage that he wasn't ready to let go of.
A vision of the horrifying human pretzel I'd witnessed earlier flashed through my mind again. I shuddered and felt spite rise in defence of my sanity.
All the more reason to burn it, I thought savagely and drifted off to thoughts of arson. However, my treacherous brain saw fit to supply me with a very unhelpful dream/memory indeed…
I was in a café with my friends Emma, Jack, Sam and Luke. We had been chatting about inconsequential matters for some time when Emma suddenly stared at me in a distinctly calculating manner. "Tal'," she said, drawing the syllable of my nickname out into a near whine. "We need to talk."
"About what?" I asked, cheerfully taking an enormous bite of my double-chocolate muffin.
"Boys."
I choked on the half-chewed mouthful and began coughing explosively into a napkin. "Wh-what?" I squawked, looking about in alarm as all four of my friends wore looks of grave intent. Was this some sort of conspiracy?
"Yes." Sam added. "Consider this an intervention."
I wiped at my slightly watering eyes with the back of my hand and took a gulp of lukewarm coffee. "Excuse me?" and my voice dropped into the tone that in Narnia had made centaurs flinch and soldiers pray that I would be distracted by a dire emergency.
But these were my fellow postgraduates—hardened and undeterred by such horror-inducing tones of doom.
"It's for your own good," Sam added. I was amazed by their stubbornness.
"Please don't do this," I drawled. "I don't need your help."
"Oh you do—you've just been fobbing us off with 'Oh, you can't rush these things' and similar nice phrases." Emma said, her sweet voice laced with annoyance. "But we know you're just happy in your loneliness and that is not acceptable!"
"So we challenge you," Jack said. "Yes, challenge you, Natalya Trelawney, to bring a date to the department's Christmas postgrad' party. Failure to comply will result in a cessation of muffins, coffee and our peerless company until the New Year."
"Don't set an official challenge at me," I begged. "Friends don't do that to each other."
"Only true friends would," Emma said. "Now find a date and bring him to the party, or suffer the consequences."
"Fine, challenge accepted." I said, my tone deceptively light as I turned away with every affectation of nonchalance.
Fucking traitors.
After a pause, I felt I had to add something. "He's going to be so fucking awesome that you'll all weep with envy. Even you, straight male friends." I added pointing at Jack and Luke. They smiled indulgently but said nothing. Clearly they were all convinced I would either be unsuccessful or humiliate myself.
Then Barney the dinosaur rushed into the café with Big Bird, Denethor and Hawkeye in tow and all of them seemed to have become rage-zombies. So we were forced to kill them with our teaspoons and a (what-the-hell-is-this-doing-here?) shovel… Before I woke up with a start.
It was dawn and I had to set out to meet the Batavians.